


heart of stone (yet it trembles)

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse never found himself explicitly attracted to anyone at all, but damn it if he didn't want to ravage the sweet, innocent boy who came to tell him of Eponine's death at the barricade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart of stone (yet it trembles)

Montparnasse was a careful man. He didn't much care for the thrill Claquesous and Brujon gleaned from teasing their victims, making them suffer, the excitement Babet got when he raped his unwilling victim before finally giving them the sweet relief of death. No, Montparnasse was not interested in such things. If he was given a job, he completed it. Nothing more, nothing less. And he certainly didn't care for sexual pleasures with said victim. He didn't care much for sexual interactions with anyone in particular, and never found himself explicitly attracted to anyone at all. That's not to say he was a virgin – of course not. He still had sexual urges, as did anyone, but that was what whores were for.

Montparnasse did not have the time or need for a romantic relationship. He never found the need to make friends to be active, he scarcely had the time to please his acquaintances. He didn't indulge in small talk or pleasantries.

This was why it was so odd for him to be holding an actual conversation.

“I thought you'd like to know,” the boy said with a downcast eye and a upturned lip. Montparnasse prayed he wouldn't cry, that would be so pathetic that it would be almost impossible not to kill him.

“Why? It makes no difference to me. She was no friend of mine.”

The boy knitted his eyebrows together in confusion and finally turned to look at Montparnasse through his wet eyelashes. Montparnasse's fingers didn't flex for the knife, but his jaw clenched involuntarily.

“But you knew her.” The statement was said so confidently, so unlike every interaction the boy had made toward him so far, that Montparnasse was a little taken aback. He found himself properly looking at the boy. The freckles that dusted his nose, the fullness of his lips, the hair that was literally all over the place. It looked like someone had been running their hands through it for hours, and Montparnasse had a sudden urge to do so himself, to mess it up, to see it sweaty and wet, to grip on to it and tug it this way and that. The urge was so unprecedented that he took a minute to compose himself.

“Yes. But I didn't care for her.” The unspoken 'I don't care for anyone' seemed to weigh the air down around the pair, and the boy contemplated Montparnasse thoughtfully, before tentatively touching his wrist. Montparnasse had killed men for less, but he simply stared at the boy's fingers that began encircling around his thin wrist.

“My name's Marius.”

Montparnasse found himself wondering why he didn't push the boy away, grab the boy's wrist himself and twist it behind his back, throw a punch to the boy's throat to make sure he was too breathless to scream, and then finally pull his thin, trusty blade out of his pocket and kill him. It would almost make Montparnasse upset though, to desecrate this fine piece of art in front of him. He didn't want to sully his pretty freckled skin – at least, not with blood, cuts and scars. He found himself a lot more willing to mark the boy in different ways, and just the image of the boy writhing underneath him as he placed careful bites on to his pale neck was enough to make Montparnasse step closer to the boy.

“Montparnasse.”

Marius smiled tentatively at him, and Montparnasse stepped a little closer to him. His hand, unbidden, gripped Marius's hip, while his other hand came to rest at the boy's throat. He let his mouth curl into a sneer, and breathed harshly into Marius's face.

“And I suggest that if you feel uncomfortable now, you scurry away home. I bet a pretty thing like you has some dainty little wife sat at home. Go back to her, before I change my mind about letting you.”

He released Marius then, but only retreated a couple of steps. He was surprised to say the least when Marius didn't scurry away as suggested. And he was further so when Marius reached his hand up to touch Montparnasse's wrist once more.

“I – well, I wondered if you – I know who you are,” the boy spluttered, and Montparnasse frowned at him. “I just, I do have a wife, a good, loving one, and she's everything I ever wanted, but–”

Montparnasse stepped closer to him again, and loomed over him in the most threatening manner he knew. 

“But what?” he asked with a hint of a snarl.

The boy lost confidence at Montparnasse's harsh tone, but he still met Montparnasse's eyes. They were a startlingly soft shade of blue.

“It's not what I want,” he finished softly, and he sounded incredibly guilty and sorry and sad, and Montparnasse really didn't care for the lamentations of some posh pretty boy who was unhappy with his life, but he stayed as he was, still.

His voice was gentler than it had ever been in his life. “And what do you want?”

~*~

 

An hour later, and Marius looked even prettier than before. Squirming between his sheets with nervous tension, and hands clutching the bedsheets desperately. His face was tinged with pink, and his blushing only made his freckles more pronounced. He trembled when Montparnasse had pushed him to the bed, and now was trembling further as Montparnasse slid the last of his underwear off.

Montparnasse was still fully clothed, and it gave him a slight thrill to see the boy so debauched underneath him, so wanting, so needy. It was something that couldn't be faked, not even by the most skilful prostitute, this absolute need, the desperation. He almost believed the boy was a virgin, but he couldn't believe that no one had touched their lips to this boy's perfect skin before, that no one else had stroked the planes of his chest or pinched his hips just that right side of painful. He couldn't believe it, because the boy looked so stunningly beautiful when he arched up into Montparnasse's touch that it was a crime if no one else had seen this absolute piece of art. 

The way that Marius positively screamed when Montparnasse closed his mouth around his cock was incredible, and Montparnasse found himself swallowing around it, tonguing around it, licking – anything to incite those small whimpers from the boy's mouth.

When the boy rested a shaking hand on his head and began to card his quaking fingers through his hair, Montparnasse arched up into the touch, nuzzling the hand. He couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed or ashamed, though he knew he would later. Instead, he pulled off Marius's cock to press a light kiss on the inside of his thigh, before biting down hard. Marius's scream this time was muffled by the pillow he pressed against his face, and Montparnasse couldn't have that.

He inched up Marius's body and tore the pillow away from him harshly, tossing it to the other side of the room. He barely saw Marius's confused expression and his hazy eyes before he pulled him into a punishing kiss, biting down on his lip and drawing blood, licking the blood over the boy's lips before making the boy taste his own blood. If the way Marius bucked up against him, hands grappling around Montparnasse's waistline and tugging at his trousers weren't enough, then his loud, wanton moans proved that the boy didn't mind at all.

When Marius finally, shakily reached the zipper on his trousers, Montparnasse relented, and drew back just enough to rip his shirt off. Marius's eyes glazed over further, and he made a desperate whining noise when Montparnasse simply sat on Marius's lap, restricting Marius's movement. 

“Please, 'Parnasse, just – take your clothes off, I want to – want to see you.”

Montparnasse stroked the boys hair a little fonder than he'd like to admit to, and climbed off him. Marius whined at the loss, and made pathetic grabby hands when Montparnasse moved away. Smirking, Montparnasse slowly unbuttoned his trousers and let the zipper fall down even slower. He always had a sense for dramatics, and stripteasing suddenly seemed like a great idea.

Marius had scrambled across to him before he could even begin properly and, in a fit of desperation, began mouthing at him through his trousers, hands shakily gripping Montparnasse's hips. 

Montparnasse groaned, and seized the boy's hair he had so longed to touch earlier. He tugged the light brown strands from side to side, and pulled his face away. He used his hair to toss Marius backwards on to the bed.

“Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?”

Marius flushed, but he didn't reply, he just helplessly writhed on the bed while Montparnasse, tired of the charade, pulled his trousers down quickly, along with his underwear. Stepping out of them both, he all but jumped on top of Marius.

He pinched Marius's nipples between his fingers sharply, making Marius squeal and writhe from side to side, before kissing him again, roughly and harshly and anything but lovingly. Marius was desperate against him, and sloppy, and Montparnasse thrust his hips against Marius's harder when the thought occurred to him that Marius was so obviously inexperienced, even in kissing.

Marius was already close, Montparnasse could sense it. It could have been the heaviness of the air, the way that it was almost becoming hard to breathe, or it could have been the tears gathering at the corners of the pale boy's eyes. 

Montparnasse was embarrassed to admit that he couldn't have been much further off, and so abruptly stopped thrusting against the boy and instead slid down Marius's body. Marius's hips bucked into nothing but air, but Montparnasse held them down with rough, calloused hands.

He muttered a quick, quiet “relax” before he was pressing a finger into the boy curiously. He watched as Marius made a noise that was almost inhuman as he twisted his finger, bent it as far as he could when it was inside Marius. Quickly, he withdrew and shoved three fingers into Marius's mouth. Marius held them there for all of a second without moving, but at Montparnasse's encouraging glance, he ran his tongue over them, grimacing only slightly at the taste but slicking them up perfectly well. 

When Montparnasse deemed them ready, he took them out quickly, leaving Marius to whine once again at the loss. Montparnasse smirked slightly at the boy's wanton manner, and thought of how prettily he would blush when Montparnasse would tell him he looked like a whore.

He pressed two fingers now, into the boy, twisting them and curling them and reaching, until he found an angle that drew another low grunt from the boy. When he added a third finger and brushed that spot again and again, Marius was sobbing.

“Please, please, I need your, need you – just please -”

Marius was reduced to begging, and it was such a pretty look on him that Montparnasse couldn't resist but push him further.

“You'll have to explain more clearly, Marius,” he snarled, and he withdrew his fingers completely before thrusting them up harshly. Marius made a high pitched whine, and desperately ground down on Montparnasse's fingers. 

“I, please, Montparnasse,” the boy was blushing, as if saying what he wanted was embarrassing or desperate, or shameful – little did he know how thoroughly debauched he looked now, and how the way he raked his fingers feverishly around his cock was utterly obscene. Montparnasse continued his rough treatment until Marius cracked. “Please, I need your – I need your...cock. Please.”

“That's better,” Montparnasse said happily, and he retracted his fingers before crawling up Marius's body again. He sat on Marius's shoulders. “Now, you need to be good for me and wet it exactly like you did the fingers.”

Marius moaned at Montparnasse's instruction, and let himself be pulled up by the hair, mouth lax as Montparnasse thrust gently into it. He took Montparnasse's cock into his hands and held it as he sucked the end, and took down as much as he could, sucking and licking however he could manage. The parts he simply couldn't manage, he withdrew and licked at them separately. Montparnasse groaned. What Marius lacked in finesse, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm.

Proclaiming it a job well done, he finally moved down to fuck Marius properly. At his first thrust into him, Marius cried out in pain, but even though Montparnasse had all these stray thoughts of beauty and of loving caresses in the autumn, he didn't still, simply fucked him hard through the pain. 

Marius was crying, and Montparnasse spared a thought to how beautiful he looked when tears were streaking down his face before he thrust upwards, eliciting a moan from the boy and knowing he had found that angle once more. He tried his best to hit that angle every time, but it was hard with the distraction of feeling Marius burn underneath him and around him. He choked on air when Marius clenched around him, the rough slide against his cock almost too overwhelming.

Marius was now crying out in pleasure rather than pain, and was gasping. Montparnasse too was moaning but it was hard to tell where one voice ended and one began, where one body mixed into the other or when one gasped cry became another mumbled groan. 

Montparnasse could feel himself beginning to come undone, heat sticking in between their bodies and making the air hot and humid, he could feel the tightening in his gut when Marius raked his fingernails down his back, and, when Montparnasse seized Marius's cock in his hands and only gave it a few rough tugs before Marius was coming all over his hand and hips and all but screaming Montparnasse's name, Montparnasse gave one last, deep thrust before he leant forward and bit down hard on Marius's neck, and came inside him. 

He only realised quite how hard he'd bitten when a few moments later, he spotted the red of blood staining the boy's white neck, a stark contrast that would have made Montparnasse, if he were an artist, reach for the paintbrush. As it was, he simply remained on his back and admired it, even as Marius awkwardly got off the bed and hopped around for his clothes. 

He felt some sort of pang when Marius was fully clothed and stood at his door, but he didn't say anything. He was already beginning to plan how he would spend his next night, killing some timid brunette with ferocity so he could forget about this one, forget that he actually felt something for someone.

He was surprised then, when Marius turned around and shyly smiled.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Montparnasse in his relaxed state couldn't even bring himself to stop the smile spreading across his lips as he agreed.

“Same time tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay ack I had this on anon for like a month to hide from Izzie but I took it off!  
> First posted sex stuff, tell me if it made you want to throw up so I can improve it <3


End file.
